


Jealousy is a Powerful Motivator

by twoseas



Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Torchwood
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Bucky Barnes, M/M, Minor Angst, Oblivious Steve Rogers, cockblock Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8816311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoseas/pseuds/twoseas
Summary: Over the course of a hundred years, Steve Rogers meets Jack Harkness six times and is not remotely immune to the other captain's charms. Bucky Barnes might have some feelings about that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I always really liked fics and headcanons where Steve and Jack randomly meet, but I also love jealous Bucky and romantically inept Steve. This is the unholy result of my attempt to combine the three

**1933**

The first time Steve Rogers met Jack Harkness, he was fifteen and being pummeled in an alley. 

 

A well aimed fist connected with the side of Steve’s head, sending sparks behind his eyes that transformed into black, dancing polka dots. Steve staggered, mouth open in a shocked gasp and eyes shuttered tight against the burst of pain. 

“Wanna keep talkin’ smart, Rogers?” Chuckles followed the attacker’s triumphant crowing. 

“I wanna alright, I just don’t think you’d understand me,” Steve spat back, the taste of blood wet and coppery on his tongue. One of his teeth felt loose and his lip was split again. Steve groaned. And it was so close to healed too. Knowing his words wouldn’t do anything to stop the beating, Steve swallowed a mouthful of spit and blood and raised his already scuffed and aching fists in preparation for the next onslaught of punches and shoves.

“You son of a -”

“Boys, boys, boys!” A jaunty drawl interrupted the attacker’s snarls. 

Steve’s head stopped throbbing long enough for him to focus his vision. His mouth promptly dropped. In the mouth of the alleyway, backlit by the orange afternoon sun, stood a man. He was tall and broad shouldered and walked towards them with swaying hips and confident purpose. He was dressed casually, blue button up shirt rolled at the sleeves. He wore suspenders and a belt, which seemed a bit much but looked undeniably good. His blue eyes sparkled and his dark hair fell lightly onto his forehead, disheveled in a way that had Steve’s mouth drying. He stopped just short of the three bullies and smiled, teeth glinting. 

“What’s going on here, fellas?” His smile somehow got wider. 

“None of your business, mister.” One of the boys who was a couple years older than Steve crossed his arms and moved as if he could block the sight of a bloodied and bruised Steve from the new arrival’s eyes. 

“Oh, I think I just made it my business.” The man’s smile dropped and his eyes hardened into cold steel. “Get out of here.”

The three boys shared a look, but then the man raised a challenging eyebrow and moved his feet apart, stance tensing into something dangerous - something ready for a fight. The three left without a glance back at Steve. 

The man watched them leave, head craning to make sure they weren’t planning on coming back. As the man turned back with a smug grin, Steve’s initial awe receded, souring into irritation. 

“I didn’t need your help,” Steve murmured as he straightened out his shirt. Other than a little blood on the collar he didn’t think there was too much damage. Nothing his ma was going to be pleased about, but nothing permanently damaged either. 

“Is that a way to thank your guardian angel?” The man winked, apparently not affronted at Steve’s lack of gratitude despite what he said.  

“Listen, pal. Thanks, but no thanks. I had it handled,” Steve groused. He dusted himself off, getting rid of some of the alley dirt that stuck to his trousers. 

“You’re a tough kid, huh?” The man’s smirk softened into something gentler. “Start fights often?”

“I didn’t start anything,” Steve’s reedy voice cracked. That was happening more and more and it was getting ridiculous. Bucky’s voice already passed the cracking stage, mellowing into something smooth and sweet and he was only a year older than Steve. Then again, in what world was Steve going to turn out half so good as Bucky? “They didn’t need to try lifting up Betty Rothstein’s skirt.”

“So you were defending a lady’s honor? Chivalrous of you.”

Steve huffed a laugh, stomach fluttering with butterflies as he thought of the way Betty swung a mean right hook into one of the guy’s chin. “Nah, she didn’t need defending. I was just dumb enough to say the wrong thing as they licked their wounds.”

The man chuckled. “You’re something else.” His eyes went distant, a faraway look overtaking the amusement. “Never change, kid.” 

Steve cleared his throat, pain and indignation giving way to awkwardness. “Uh, thanks. I guess I’ll just…” Steve hooked his thumb towards the mouth of the alley and started his walk, bruises and joints protesting. 

“Mind if I walk you home?” The man caught up in two steps, smiling brightly and losing that thoughtful expression. 

“Free country,” Steve shrugged. He ducked his head to hide the flush he felt creeping up his neck and blossoming along his cheeks. Up close the man was even taller, muscles straining against that thin blue shirt. Steve kept his gaze pointedly averted, coughing once or twice when he found his eyes straying. He really needed to get this whole puberty thing under control. 

They walked on in silence until they got to Steve’s. “This is me,” Steve pointed out. He waved vaguely at the brick building. 

“Well, it was a pleasure, Steve.”

With a lazy salute, the man spun dramatically and left. That was it. Nothing else. Steve gawked at the retreating form. “Thanks,” he mumbled way too late to be heard. 

“You’re gonna catch flies,” Bucky’s familiar voice teased. 

Mouth clamping shut, Steve tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed. “Hey, Buck. Do you know that guy?”

“What guy?” 

Steve made to point out the man, but when he looked down the sidewalk, he was already gone. “Oh.” Steve’s frown deepened. “He’s fast.”

“Who?” Bucky stared curiously down the street, leaning over Steve’s shoulder, a hot weight along Steve’s entire back. “What’d he look like?”

“Tall, dark hair, blue shirt. Handsome.” Steve thought on the man’s dimpled chin and wide grin. “Real handsome.”

Bucky’s head snapped to stare at Steve. “Handsome?”

Steve’s eyes widened as he realized exactly what he said. “Er, you know, just decent looking guy.” 

“Decent looking?” Bucky’s own face formed a frown, eyebrows lowering in a glower. 

“Just decent looking,” Steve threw his hands up defensively, doing his best not to look as flustered as he felt and failing miserably. “Doesn’t matter anyhow.”

“Yeah…” Bucky’s voice trailed off as he watched Steve stalk towards the stairwell. His eyes scanned over Steve’s skinny frame and widened when he saw the spatter of blood at his collar. “Steve! Did you seriously get in another fight? Why am I even surprised anymore? Your ma is gonna be furious.”

Bucky’s scolding followed him to his apartment. Tuning out the usual questions about his mental condition, possible death wish, and disregard for his ma’s laundering skills, Steve tried not to think too much about the handsome man. That way led to trouble. These days he had a hard enough time (sometimes literally) with Bucky constantly on his mind. He didn’t need stupid good looking strangers and their careless grins in there too. 

So determined to forget the cloud of teenage attraction he felt towards the man, Steve conveniently forgot he never told the man his name. 

  
**1940**

The second time Steve Rogers met Jack Harkness, he was twenty-two, sitting in art class, and had completely forgotten the first time they met. 

 

Bucky was late and Steve tapped his pencil anxiously against his easel. He didn’t like Bucky being late since they normally came together anyway. Moreover, they were doing figure drawing and that meant they would only have the model for so long. Bucky wasn’t as interested in art as Steve, mainly taking the course as a favor so they could spend the time together, but he still did the work and Steve didn’t relish the thought of Bucky not getting enough time to get something down on paper. 

“Alright, since we’re only missing Mr. Barnes,” the teacher side-eyed Steve as if he was responsible for his best friend’s absence. “Let’s get started. Our model today will be Mr. Harkness.”

Steve could have slapped himself for not noticing the tall, striking man. The man, Mr. Harkness apparently, wore a large blue coat and was shoeless, exposing argyle socks. He bowed at the room in general, eyes sweeping over the students with an appreciative gaze. “Hello, ladies. Gentlemen. Please, call me Jack.”

A few of the girls fluttered their lashes, smiles widening and eyes growing hungry. Really, when faced with that much charm, Steve was halfway there himself. 

Then the man dropped his coat, causing a collective gasp to echo through the room. Jack smirked, unselfconscious to the point of preening. 

Steve’s eyes took in every bare inch of the man, every scar, every swell of muscle, the smooth looking pale expanse of skin. From the glorious nakedness to the garter suspended socks, Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away. The teacher, a little breathless himself, went through the assignment and instructed Jack to stand and pose. Jack complied with an amiable nod and struck his pose, hands on his hips and legs spread wide, leaving nothing to the imagination. The model’s abdominal muscles twitched as he adjusted and Steve unblinkingly followed the spasm of movement all the way down. The man was well endowed and good lord was he aroused right now? Because it certainly looked like he was getting there. The fall of a pencil dimly registered in Steve’s ears as the familiar scratching of sketching sounded. 

“Sorry I’m late,” came a whisper from beside Steve. 

Steve might have grunted in response. 

“Steve?”

Holy shit, the man was definitely aroused. No one showed THAT much. There was absolutely a noticeable filling out. How could the man get hard while standing in front of a room full of people staring? Was he some kind of exhibitionist? Steve hoped so. Wait, what?

“Stevie?”

“Ungh.”

Something was shoved into Steve’s hands. A pencil. A hand waved in front of his vision. 

“You kinda need this to draw, Steve,” came a cold voice. 

Steve blinked in fast succession and stared at Bucky’s unhappy expression. His mouth was a tight line and his eyes were icy. 

“Oh, er, thanks, Buck.” Steve cleared his throat and promised himself he would be more professional as he put pencil to paper. The action was calming and returned him to sanity. The rest of the class passed in a blur of creativity. The model’s figure was distracting right up until Steve decided to make it his subject, then it became another thing to replicate and enliven in a new medium - curves and lines and shadows Steve needed to work to create. 

The class wound down and Steve furiously shaded in the line of the subject’s thigh. People were already packing up and the teacher called them to finish. Steve’s tongue poked out from his mouth as he hurried. He needed to get his one done. He already had a collection of rudimentary sketches for a variety of poses the man had done. Now he just needed to finish this more detailed drawing. 

“Hey, you’re good,” came a smiling voice from behind his shoulder. 

Steve jumped, holding in a squeak. The model grinned, back in his coat though Steve could see the sliver of bare skin from the neckline. There was nothing on under that coat. Steve gulped. 

“Th-thanks.”

“Steve’s the best.” Bucky crossed his arms, spinning slightly in his seat. His voice wasn’t friendly and his eyes were still distant, but the compliment was said with such certainty Steve couldn’t help but smile at it. 

“Thanks, Buck. But I’m really not-”

“No,” Bucky protested, gaze softening. “You really are.”

“He’s not wrong. Yours is the best.” He winked and leaned in closer, breath ghosting over Steve’s ear. “Don’t tell the others.”

“I dunno, Mr. Harkness,” Steve managed through his suddenly strangled throat.

“I do. And to you, blue eyes, it’s Jack.” 

Steve suppressed a shiver. “Er, Jack.”

“Perfect,” Jack purred.

“Steve, we’ve got to get going.” Bucky stood abruptly, tearing his sketch with more force than usual. 

Steve got his things put away as the last of the class including the teacher left the room, Jack following the movements with predatory deliberateness. “You’re thorough,” he noted with approval. 

“Yeah, I suppose.” He kind of had to be. Not like he could afford to replace any of his supplies if he lost them.

“Based on that sketch, you’re good with your hands too. And the human form.” That wasn’t an innuendo, wasn’t it? Steve flushed, ears burning. 

Before Steve could respond, Bucky’s firm grip tugged him up and out the door. “C’mon.”

“Hey!” Jack called out. “You would’ve been invited too, cheekbones!”

Steve opened his mouth to question Bucky, but his friend only sped up and growled, “Keep walking, Steve.”

Bucky wasn’t back to his usual cheerful self until the next day. If that improvement in mood coincided with catching a red faced Steve manically hiding a sketch he had done of a napping Bucky, Steve never made the connection. 

 

**1943**

The third time Steve Rogers met Jack Harkness, he was twenty-five and considerably different looking. 

 

Peggy left the bar looking like the best kind of dream in that red dress while a still stunned Steve and Bucky sat down to get to know their new team. The others were singing another bawdy song that Morita orchestrated with more enthusiasm than skill and Steve went to get another round of drinks, laughter and good cheer filling his ears and lifting his mood impossibly higher. He waited at the bar corner, the bartender sending him an apologetic smile as he took care of a newly arrived group of officers. Steve did his best to telegraph that he was in no hurry and leaned against the edge to wait. 

“Now those are shoulders I would gladly get behind,” came an inebriated drawl. “And I will, just say the word.”

Steve stiffened, the voice familiar. Beside him leaned in a handsome face, smirking with obvious intent and flushed with alcohol. He smelled of whiskey, eyes bright but glazed over in a way that made them less sharp than Steve remembered. 

“Mr. Harkness?” Steve couldn’t help gawping. The man looked good, fully dressed this time though his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a muscular chest and tempting Steve’s eyes to go lower. 

“It’s Jack,” the man sighed dreamily, chin propped up by his hand as he put his elbow on the bar top. “Or Captain Jack. Only Mr. Harkness if you’re nasty.”

Steve blushed as Jack laughed heartily. When he was finally done chuckling to himself, his eyes widened as he took in all of Steve. 

“Well look at you,” he whistled. “I only came over here after a look at the back, nice bottom by the way, and then there’s all this? Talk about a deal.”

Steve sputtered. 

“Last time I saw you,” Jack dragged out every syllable happily, “I was very naked and you were shaping me with those talented hands of yours, weren’t you?”

“It was an art class!” Steve managed to yell, trying to deny the suggestive implications of what Jack said. “I was drawing you!”

“You’re adorable,” he cooed. “And my have you grown. Frankly, I don’t know which body I prefer. You, my dear Captain America, are ravishing.”

Steve didn’t know if he could get redder, but his face was certainly trying. 

“Are you a full body blusher?” Jack asked, delight etched in the curl of his lips. 

“You are very drunk,” Steve managed. 

“Please, this 20th century stuff is easy.” With a roll of his eyes, Jack waved towards the door. “I’m thinking hyper-vodkas back at mine. Care to join me?”

Startling a jump out of the unsuspecting blond, Bucky came out of nowhere and slapped a hand over Steve’s shoulder. “Where’ve you been? The guys are getting thirsty.”

He spoke directly to Steve, ignoring Jack even though the other man was obviously within Steve’s personal space and talking to him. 

Jack spoke, voice brightening. “Oh, jawline for days! I was wondering if you’d be here too.”

Bucky turned to Jack, no humor in the lift of his eyebrows. “Excuse me, do we know you?”

“Would you like to?” There was a challenge to Jack’s question.

Bucky ignored the offer, hand gripping Steve’s shoulder to the point where it almost hurt even in his new, more resilient body. “Sorry, pal. Steve and I have got to go.”

“Buck, but-”

“C’mon.”

Steve let Bucky drag him away, mostly out of habit. He was bigger than Bucky now and he could easily fight back but he didn’t feel the need to. Not with Bucky. 

Steve thought they would go back to the table and the rest of the guys, but Bucky steered them out of the bar and into the street, eyebrows stitched together and nostrils flaring. 

“You ok, Buck?”

“I thought you liked Carter?” Bucky almost yelled at Steve. 

“I do!” Steve’s eyes widened confusion setting in. 

“Then we need to keep walking,” Bucky snarled. 

They did just that, Bucky muttering angrily under his breath, words incomprehensible. He hadn’t released his grip on Steve, hand hot and possessive over his shoulder. Steve took a deep breath before Bucky’s manhandling could further incite that hot curl of want in the pit of his gut. Steve recited the mantra he developed at fifteen. _He’s your best friend, he’s your best friend, he’s your best friend, he doesn’t feel the same, he doesn’t feel the same, he doesn’t feel the same_. 

“What’s he even doing here!” Bucky’s muttering turned to a shout. 

“Bucky?” Steve stopped and looked a Bucky, taking in the flushed face and dodgy eyes. “What’d he do that’s so bad? I haven’t seen you like this in, jeez, forever.”

“Nothing.” Bucky rubbed his neck. “I just don’t like him.”

Steve tensed and chose his next words carefully. The two of them had never talked about men who chose the company of other men, Steve assuming they had a silent understanding not to mention it, especially after puberty hit and it became obvious that Steve’s eyes were drawn just as much to Clark Gable as they were to Vivien Leigh. Steve didn’t let his attractions garner any dangerous attention and Bucky didn’t mention it for plausible deniability. That was the unspoken agreement.  “I know that some of the things he implies aren’t...accepted. But he isn’t dangerous. Just seems like kind of a flirt?”

The incredulous stare Bucky sent him was withering. “That’s not what bothers me,” Bucky grumbled. “I just don’t like his stupid hair or his dumb coat. Sometimes you just see people and don’t like them. It isn’t a crime.”

Steve was still confused as to why Bucky had a problem with the man, especially with those reasons. “Buck, your hair would look an awful lot like his right now if you just parted it to the other side.”

Bucky scoffed, completely insulted, and Steve fussed. 

“I like yours more, though. And yours looks good down or back or even when you don’t do anything with it and...yeah.” Steve coughed and walked ahead before he could ramble out any more butchered compliments. 

Steve missed the pleased smile Bucky directed at his awkwardly hunched back.

 

**1944**

The fourth time Steve Rogers met Jack Harkness, he was a month away from turning twenty-six and on a mission in France. 

 

As Steve, Peggy, and the Howling Commandos cleared the otherwise empty cells of an abandoned Hydra base, they found Jack, naked on a cot and seemingly fine despite the setting. Steve broke the lock with his shield and Jack let out a cheerful woop before leaping out of the cell. Steve’s eyes widened like saucers as strong hands pulled him by his uniform’s straps, intent written across the man’s face.

Before he could be pulled any closer, Bucky was at his side and throwing a blanket at Jack’s face. 

“Cover up.”

“Spoilsport,” came the muffled reply. 

If Bucky had trouble being civil until after Jack traipsed off to wherever Jack traipsed, Steve knew it was just because Bucky disliked Jack for no reason in particular and hated the guy’s hair. Not like the coat was a problem this time around. 

 

**1945**

The fifth time Steve Rogers met Jack Harkness, he was twenty-six and he just lost his Bucky. 

 

Jack took one look at his eyes and knew. 

Steve’s didn’t realize a wordless hug could feel so understanding. 

 

**2018**

The last time Steve Rogers met Jack Harkness, it was five minutes until his 100th birthday.

 

“Birthday shots!” Sam shouted, hands slamming down four shot glasses of whiskey. “For the birthday boy.”

He pushed all four shots at Steve as a waitress came by with a tray of drinks for the rest of the table, including another beer for Steve.

“Sam,” Steve frowned. “My birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Five minutes from now,” Natasha corrected him. 

Steve continued on as if she hadn’t said anything. “And I was perfectly happy with not making a big deal out of it. We’ve got Tony’s party at the Tower anyway.”

“A Fourth of July party,” Sam complained. “Which probably does nothing but make fun of your age and the fact that Captain America of all people was born on the fourth of July.”

“Yeah, and since that’s going to be more than I ever planned on celebrating-”

“You should take tonight to celebrate intimately with your close friends,” Natasha nodded as if that was the point Steve was going to make. It was probably a safer idea to go with it. 

Sighing heavily, Steve turned to Bucky. It hadn’t been long since Bucky was taken out of cryo in Wakanda and his conditioning removed, but Steve could see he was better. Bucky was more sure of himself, more in control of what made him both Bucky and the Winter Soldier. There was a consolidation of the two people that seemed to ease the hunted fear behind Bucky’s eyes. 

Steve was happy. He had Bucky back. Sure they were older, maybe a bit more broken. But they were alive and they were together. Steve didn’t need to wish for anything else. He watched the way Bucky’s hair, still long, fell in his face. That’s right, Steve chastised himself. He didn’t want anything else but Bucky’s friendship. Friendship, he assured himself. Absolutely nothing else. 

“Look at me all you want, pal,” Bucky smirked, taking one of Steve’s birthday shots and downing it with a bobbing swallow Steve refused to get distracted by. “I’m not arguing with free booze.”

Sighing, Steve grabbed the shots and drank down the rest, knowing they weren’t going to make a difference. Frankly, Sam and Nat should’ve known too. Bucky could still get a buzz if he tried hard enough and consumed enough liquor, but so far only Thor’s meade had ever put a dent in Steve’s sobriety. 

“Sam, you’re wasting your money,” Steve informed his friend. 

“Just because you can’t get drunk doesn’t mean you can’t drink with the rest of us.” Sam sipped at his beer loftily. 

“That’s not what matters,” Natasha cut across them with a serious tone that had the other three instinctively stiffening. “We aren’t here for drinks.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky mumbled, downing his beer and grabbing Steve’s. 

“We’re here to get Steve laid.”

Bucky choked on his drink. “What?”

Head falling into his hands, Steve spoke into his palms. “Nat, seriously?”

“Steve, I’ve been trying to get your spangled ass tapped for years. Literal years,” Natasha stressed. “I thought my job was done with Sharon but then that fizzled to nothing-”

“We’re still friends!” Steve protested. 

“And I’m back at square one. Steve, please, put an end to this century of celibacy before I sign you up for Senior People Meet.”

Sam chuckled low as he took a swig of his own beer. “Don’t be too hard on him, Natasha.”

That was it, Steve would let Sam take the lead on every run for the next week to repay his gratitude.

“Not everyone has natural game.”

Nope, Steve would lap him. Then stop at a Starbucks, order a coffee, and run backwards to lap him some more. For a month.

“Wilson,” Natasha tilted her head carelessly, green eyes dancing. “What do you know about game? You didn’t even realize Steve was flirting with you when you first met.”

“What?”

“What?!”

“More drinks!” Steve shouted and slid his chair out from under him so fast he almost upset the table and tipped the chair over. 

Escaping Natasha’s devious grin, Sam’s confounded gaping, and Bucky’s horrified glower, Steve stopped at the bar with a relieved sigh. He could still feel their eyes on him, but at least he couldn’t hear anything over the other patrons. It was a weekday and more on the late side, but the bar was still crowded and teeming with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses against tabletops. 

“Well, I’ll be damned. I don’t remember ordering the trip down memory lane, but I’ll take it anyway.”

No. No way. 

“Jack?!”

“Captain Rogers.” Had Steve’s title ever sounded so dirty? 

“How?” Was all Steve could manage.

Jack leaned into Steve’s space with a grin, looking exactly the same as Steve remembered. Blue shirt, suspenders, brown belt, long trench coat, and an expression that was indecent without the man ever trying. 

“I thought you learned all about aliens and miracles with the Avengers?”

“Right…” Steve stared into sparkling blue eyes. He really should ask a few more questions. He really should. This was impossible. This man was impossible. This man was leaning in and Steve had to control his shaky breathing. 

“This century agrees with you,” came Jack’s husky purr. 

“You too,” Steve managed. 

Jack chuckled. “You know, a man as handsome as you has no right being as woefully, adorably awkward as you are at this”

“This?” Steve’s voice rose too many octaves. 

“This,” Jack nodded without elucidating his point. 

“Steve,” a gravelly voice interrupted and warmth spread along his back.

“And there he is again,” Jack sighed. They both turned from the bar to see Bucky standing behind them, practically pressed into Steve. 

Bucky frowned, forehead scrunching as he eyed Jack up and down. “You’re kidding me.”

“How’s it going, gorgeous?” Jack winked and Bucky’s mouth twisted in distaste. 

“C’mon,” was all Bucky said, arm coming to grip Steve’s bicep. 

“Bucky-”

“If you don’t seal the deal this time,” Jack’s voice called. “Send him back my way.” 

“C’mon, Stevie.”

The nickname paired with a gloved hand pressed at the small of his back had Steve immediately docile and compliant. Physically, at least. 

“Seriously, Bucky? We meet a guy we haven’t seen since the war and you just want to ignore him? Even though he looks exactly the same? I mean, I get that you don’t like him, but- hey, the table’s back there. What about Nat and Sam?”

Bucky didn’t answer any of Steve’s questions, instead leading him out the bar’s back door and into an empty alley. The door shut behind them with a clang. 

“Bucky, what-”

Words cut off, Steve found himself pushed bodily against a wall. Bucky’s face was close, noses brushing. Steve swallowed around a dry throat. 

“Do you know why I hate that guy?”

“N-no.”

“Every time I see him, he flirts with you. In class. At the bar. At that base. Here. Every. Single. Time.”

“I-I-”

“And worst of all,” Bucky hissed, breath caressing Steve’s lips. He could almost feel the featherlight movement of Bucky’s lips, the realization making him faint and raising his heart rate. “Is you never seem to mind. You like it.”

“Buck-”

“I have been waiting eighty-five years for you to realize I’m right here, Steve. I’m right here and I want you to mind.”

Steve stared into Bucky’s eyes, taking in the possessiveness and vulnerability and undeniable love there. That was love, Steve realized. That was definitely love. Steve had been so determined not to expose himself, he completely missed the signs on Bucky’s side. Steve was an idiot. 

“You love me back,” he whispered, disbelief obvious. The words echoed in his head. A hysterical giggle escaped him. “You actually love me back.”

Bucky didn’t answer with words, instead diving in to claim Steve’s mouth. Steve didn’t know what he expected, he’d only had a handful of kisses in his life, after all. But Steve was glad he didn’t go in with expectations, if only because Bucky would destroy every single one of them. 

Bucky’s kiss was desperate and hard, but still gentle enough that Steve had to press forward for more connection. Taking that as permission, Bucky turned the kiss aggressive, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and a tongue sliding along the seam of his mouth, asking for entry. Steve acquiesced with a groan, his body pressed on one side by the cool brick wall and on another by Bucky’s solid heat. Bucky’s hand found it’s way up Steve’s chest and neck until his warm palm cupped Steve’s jaw and a shaky thumb stroked his cheek. 

Steve broke the kiss, gasping for air. They stared into each other's’ eyes, grinning wide as their hearts thudded in unison. Steve got brave and pushed in for another kiss, quick and chaste. 

Bucky sighed. He leaned in and spoke into Steve’s neck, voice low and rough and promising. “Happy birthday, Stevie.”

Bucky's teeth latched onto Steve's neck as he sucked a hickey into the tender skin there, tongue flicking over the bite. Steve groaned, a shiver shaking his frame. 

“We should go, we should definitely go.”

“But the bar is full and he might still be there. I want you all to myself.”

“You can have me all to yourself back in my room. Where there is a bed.”

“We should go.”

Steve huffed a laugh. They set off, remembering Sam and Natasha long enough to send them a text about leaving before promptly forgetting anything that wasn’t each other and Steve’s very large, very comfortable, now very broken bed. 

Breaths heaving, hearts hammering, blood pressure returning to normal, the two stared at each other in the wreckage of their first time. Their clothes were torn and strewn around, the sheets were twisted and discarded on the floor, and the headboard was snapped in half. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve panted. 

“Yeah?”

“I did not take you for the possessive type.” His naked body covered in already healing love bites and bruising handprints confirmed that Bucky was in fact possessive.

“Yeah, well people with dumb hair and dumb coats should lay off my best guy,” Bucky grumbled. 

Steve laughed, bright and delighted. “If this is what happens when a guy flirts with me, you’re not really making me want them to stop.”

A low growl came from the other side of the bed, making Steve laugh even harder. 

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

“...Round two?”

“Yes, please.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
